Blood and Angels
by Sharona-Snugglebunny
Summary: Sharona Hernandez was a fanfic writer who liked to put her characters through angst. So what happens when she wakes up one morning in the body of her mentally unbalanced character, plagued by demonic beings and unfortunate circumstance?
1. Blood, Angels, Stuff

Disclaimer-goodness: I do not own Batman, or anything in the DC universe. If I made money on this I wouldn't put it where it could get me in trouble, so worry not, corporate executive types! I am gaining nothing from this but spent time, a sense of accomplishment, and a little admiration!  
  
Part One : Madhouse  
  
Sharona Hernandez liked to write in bed. She yawned a bit, tucking her ballpoint pen into the spine of her notebook. She was working on her latest fanfic, another story showcasing the exploits of her created character, Sora "The Fabulous K" Kissinger. This particular character was written solely for the use of one comic book universe, DCU. Sora was a resident of Gotham's Arkham Asylum, and Sharona prided herself on how insane and potentially dangerous this laid-back, cute individual could be written without straying out of character. Having also been blessed with artistic talent as well as prowess with the written word, Sharona even when so far as to draw and color sketches of the more important or symbolic artworks that her character was famous for. Smiling sleepily, Sharona let herself doze a bit, her head rested on the half-filled page before her.  
  
She woke up to a harsh buzzer, terribly unlike her own gently beeping alarm clock. Blinking with confusion, the girl sat up, looking around the small, brightly painted room that she found herself in. A look of astonishment etched on her face, she jumped out of bed, which was a small, hospital-like cot, and turned around to get a good look at the paintings on the wall. Sharona's eyes widened as she recognized each detail.  
  
"Oh, hell, NO," she breathed out, looking down at herself in dismay. She wasn't sure whether she should laugh or cry as she found the star-shaped scar on the palm of her right hand, remembering how hard it had been for her to write out the flashback sequence that had revealed how Sora had gotten it. She definitely started to feel more like crying when she realized that in place of her bright pink pajamas she was wearing the drab garb of an Arkham Asylum inmate. She turned, the pane of bulletproof glass that composed the fourth wall of her tiny room confirming the impossible.  
  
Sharona was in Arkham. And, apparently, in the body of Sora as well.  
  
This was a most troubling concept for the fangirl.  
  
She couldn't help but look around with a slight shiver of disgust as she noted the famous criminals and madmen in the cafeteria as she stood in line to receive her breakfast, a nice bowlful of lukewarm oatmeal. Her gaze passed over the filling tables to one that was quite empty, and she sighed with relief. Sharona walked over as quickly as possible, avoiding the eyes of many curious and criminally insane as she sat down at the uninhabited corner of the table. She busied herself with digging trenches into the suspiciously slop-like oatmeal with her spoon, tensing slightly when she heard someone sit down next to her.  
  
"Hey, K," the ribald voice of Harley chirped. Sharona glanced over, a blankly annoyed expression on her face. She blinked, remembering that Sora and Harley were good friends, and smiled weakly.  
  
"Oh, uh, hiya, Harl," she said nervously, inwardly sighing. "What up?" The blond girl grinned cheerfully, seeming not to notice any change in the appearance or behavior of her mentally unbalanced friend. The Joker's moll poked the brunette in the chest, one sandy eyebrow raised.  
  
"You seem a lil down, K-baby. When'd ya get back inta Arkham?" Harley chatted, spooning some of Sharona's oatmeal into her mouth. Sharona narrowed her eyes, then shrugged, sighing.  
  
"I don't remember, Harley. I don't really remember anything today. If I knew how I got here, I'd be one step closer to getting myself out," she mused, sucking lightly on the end of the spoon. "I remember. I was writing, and I fell asleep because I had writer's block. And I was in my own home and stuff." She pauses, looking a little sick. "And now I'm here. Did Sora- I mean, did I do something to warrant being thrown into Arkham, Harley?" The blond shrugged, stretching a bit.  
  
"I dunno. You wanna hang out this afternoon?" After a moment, Sharona nodded.  
  
"Sure thing, girl. I'll talk to you later, okay? I'm going to my room to think." She stood, ruffling Harley's hair a little. "Take care, Quinzel."  
  
She strolled down the halls of the insane asylum, shivers running down her spine. This place had a pretty bad history, and it gave her the creeps to think about all the crazy men and woman who'd lived there. Were. currently living there.  
  
"You're one of them."  
  
"Hm?" Sharona asked, turning around to look at the person who had spoken to her. She blinked slowly, faced with a long stretch of empty hallway. She shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "Weird."  
  
She turned again to walk forward, and found herself face-to-face with a young man. He didn't seem to be a resident of Arkham, but his clothes were the same faded grey-beige as hers. She squinted, finding it hard to focus on more than one of his features at once.  
  
"Are you visiting someone?" she asked after a moment, fidgeting a bit. He nodded, looking behind his shoulder towards the way she was going.  
  
"I mean to, yes. I come here when I remember too much," he said, stepping over to stand next to her. "Do you want to walk with me?"  
  
"Um, sure, okay," Sharona said with a nod, looking him over. "What's your name?"  
  
"Jason," he said, starting down the hallway with her. She nodded, looking at her slippers as she walks with him.  
  
"Oh, really? I used to know a guy named Jason. He moved to Boston or something," she yawns, shivering a bit. "Are you cold? I'm kinda chilly myself."  
  
"I don't get cold anymore," he replied, staring ahead. "Why are you talking to me?"  
  
"Huh?" she asked, surprised. "I dunno, you seemed nice enough. God knows I need to interact with SOMEone who isn't going to flat-out try to kill me or something, you know? Why? Doesn't anyone talk to you when you come here?"  
  
"No," Jason said, shaking his head with a sort of sad smile. "Usually no one even notices me."  
  
"Oh," Sharona replied awkwardly, looking down. "That's too bad. Unless you like it like that. Who're you here to visit?"  
  
"Someone I used to know," he murmured, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. It was nice talking to you though."  
  
"Wait," she pressed, an eyebrow raised. "You're going to come all the way out here to visit someone, and then you're just gonna go home without even seeing them?"  
  
He gave her an odd look, seeming a little confused. Finally he smiled, shrugging lightly.  
  
"You're right. I might as well see him, right? It couldn't hurt." They walked on for a few more minutes, stopping in front of a cell. Sharona peered in, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Joker? Hey, Joker-facey!" she called, knocking on the glass door with the heel of her palm. She turned to look up at Jason. "How do you know the Joker, Jason?"  
  
"What's that, K?" Joker asked, green eyebrows raised. "You talkin' to me, kid? Heheheheh."  
  
"No," Sharona frowned, gesturing to the young man beside her. "I meant Jason, he came to visit you, Jokey. He's right here." She turned, blinking. Jason was gone. "Where's he at? I was just- he was just here, I was just talking to him. Jaaaaasoooon! Did you run off?"  
  
"Knock it off, K," the Joker snapped bad-temperedly. She blinked, noticing that he was nursing a nasty bruise on his forehead.  
  
"Where'd you get that, Joker-poker? Bat-flavored Vigilante-man?" she asked with a slight smirk, knowing that it was probably the case. Gotta love the Batman, she thought to herself, shaking her head with an amused smile on her face. "Maybe you should go ask Doctor Frieze to sit on your face."  
  
"Maybe," he giggled, the annoyed expression on his face dissolving into his usually gleeful smile. She turned and strode towards her own cell, figuring that the mysterious Jason boy must have run off like a pansy girl. She frowned, realizing that she was thinking like Sora there for a moment, and closed her cell door behind her.  
  
"I'm not Sora. I'm not Sora! I'm Sharona. I'm still Sharona," she said aloud to herself, staring at the demented sillouette of Batman painted on the wall. "My name is not Sora. I'm not a nineteen year old psychic artist. My name is Sharona. I'm a sixteen-year old. I'm not crazy, I don't even believe in psychics, and I DON'T BELONG HERE!" She flopped down on the bed, jumping slightly as she heard a male chuckle from the hallway. She turned, glaring a bit at the evil balding psychiatrist who worked with Sora.  
  
"I suppose you had to hit denial sometime," he grinned, and she nearly growled. Yes, he had done and was sure to do some horrible, evil things, but she only knew that because she'd written him that way. She frowned, feeling sort of guilty, and turned away.  
  
"I'm not talking to you now, Richard," she says with another glare, pulling her sheets around her tightly. "I don't feel like listening to a crazy sadistic flaming homo right now."  
  
"Really? Weren't you just talking to the Joker a few minutes ago?"  
  
"Leave me alone, you pedophilic stack of back hair."  
  
"Creative, that. You know what will happen if you don't come to our session today?"  
  
"Something infinitely more enjoyable than spending an hour wanting to leap across the room and kill you, I imagine." She sulked, sucking on the corners of her sheet. After a few minutes with no response, she finally turned to look at him, but he was gone. Frowning, she turned and stood at the closed door to her cell, peering down the hallway looking for him. "Hey, Miss Pam? Wherefor did the evil demon-ish freaky man go?"  
  
"I wasn't watching, Sora dear," the redheaded plant chick replied casually. "What did you do?"  
  
"I said I'm not gonna talk to him. And I won't. I'll petition for a psychiatrist who DOESN'T molest little kids and stuff," she answers huffily, tossing her short auburn hair over her shoulder. "Or something. Why are you here?"  
  
"One of my venus flytraps was hungry."  
  
".and?"  
  
"Well, she ate a jogger. I don't blame her, he wasn't even on the sidewalk, you know, just traipsing around on the grass. Serves him right, I say."  
  
"You would," Sharona sighed, leaning against the glass. "Pammikins, do you think the Batman guy will show up today? I wanna talk to him."  
  
"I don't imagine he would. Then again," she said with a shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine."  
  
"Better, actually," Sharona mumbled, flopping down on her bed with a yawn. "I should get outta here, don't you think? I'm out of paints."  
  
A trio of figures darkened the doorway, and she heard the smug voice of her psychiatrist once more.  
  
"Boys, she's been uncooperative to the point of violence and insults. I'm afraid she'll have to spend time in isolation," he said with a grin, earning a dark glare from Poison Ivy across the hall and a worried meep from Sharona. She turned, frowning at him.  
  
"Yeah, 'cause I've been so terribly known for violent acts," she sneers, mostly to hold in her own fear and apprehension. She sighed, standing up. "Well, let's go, I just can't wait to spend an hour or two in the blankety- blank room of beigeness."  
  
"Take her," the man said with a smile, opening the door. The two rather burly guards at his sides rushed in, lifting her forcibly by the armpits and dragging the bemused girl out of her cell. She blinked, looking up at Richard Fenton with an eyebrow raised.  
  
"I didn't know I was that dangerous, Dicky," she calls out as they take her away. She giggles, giving a tiny, awkward wave to Pamela as she passes her. "Tell Harley I had to cancel, okay?"  
  
She looked around, confused, as they stopped near an older section of the asylum, and her psychiatrist unlocked a small door that led down to a dark, ancient-looking basement. He gestured to the two men, and they shoved her in, causing her to stumble slightly and grab onto the rotting wooden handrail.  
  
"This isn't the isolation thingie," she said softly, her eyes narrowed up at Richard. He shrugged.  
  
"I had to lock you into the isolated area closest to me, you know. You were acting dangerously violent." His face broke into a grin at the shocked and outraged look on her face.  
  
"We passed the iso cells back there, you freak! Oh my God, you can NOT lock me up down here!" She took a step forward on the awkwardly crumbling stairs, but he slammed the door in her face and locked it. She pounded furiously on the door, but there was no response. Sighing, she turned, looking down at the crumbling staircase that descended down to some dark basement or another. "Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought him back," she said out loud, mostly to calm herself down as she took a few slow steps down, unable to see in the pitch darkness. Her foot slipped a little and she squeaked, grabbing onto the handrail to steady herself.  
  
"This is nuts. okay, Sharona, think positive. Sunflowers, Samurai Jack. Batman, monkeys, the Powerpuff Girls," she chanted to herself, one hand on the rail, the other on the slightly slimy wall opposite. She shuddered, but continued on, hoping desperately for some sort of tunnel or passage out at the bottom of the stairs. "Candy canes, Johnny Depp, pirates, doughnuts. Lemon candy, Ben and Jerry's, Mary Cassat, crayola markers," she whispered, her voice trembling. She blinked, unsure if the tiny dancing light ahead was in fact a trick of her eyes, or if it was real. "Toothpaste, marching band, Harry Potter, photoshop. Flashlights, stickers, Justice League, Dragon Half. Mommy!" she yelped as the handrail cracked and fell under the weight of her hand.  
  
Thrown off balance, she slipped, breaking through the remains of the rickety rail and fell. Apparently, there hadn't been much more staircase to go down anyway, because she landed quite suddenly in a bit of cold water. Wincing, she stood, discovering that the water was a little less than knee deep. Shivering as her wet clothes stick to her skin, she felt around for the stairs, her hands coming across something hard in the water. A tiny light above her shone down, and the voice of her psychiatrist echoed down towards her.  
  
"How are you down there?" he asked pleasantly, sounding very much like a smug bastard. Sharona blinked, her eyes narrowed.  
  
"I'm soaking wet, you ass! What the hell are you trying to accomplish, want to see if I'll catch cold or something?"  
  
"Maybe you'll be a bit better-behaved in a few hours," he shrugged, turning away. As the tiny amount of light shrank away, Sharona caught a glimpse of the object her hand had bumped.  
  
Bones. A skeleton. Human.  
  
"Oh God," she whimpered, backing away from it as the chamber she was in became pitch black once more. "Oh God. Oh God, oh my God." She scrambled toward the staircase, sloshing clumsily through the water, and the skeletal hand of the submerged corpse touched her ankle, and grabbed it. She shrieked, feeling the bony figure pull itself up using her as a ladder. "Let go! Let go! Oh Jesus, oh please, don't touch meeeeee!"  
  
"You don't need to scream like that," the quiet voice of a subdued man said quietly. The fleshless fingers gently released her, and in the hurried rush to get away from him she tripped and fell into the water again. She pulled herself onto the stairs, and started to crawl up them.  
  
"Wait," the voice said, sounding a little unhappy. "Please wait. I haven't spoken to anyone in so long."  
  
"P-please d-don't touch me," Sharona whimpered, clinging to the wet brick stairs. "Wh-why are you t-talking to me? What. what are you doing in here?"  
  
"I fell," he said simply, the clicking of his bones and the wet slushing sound warning her that he was coming near her. "I was just coming down to see how badly the basement had flooded, you see, and I slipped. I hit my head." She cried as the skeleton hand grabbed hers, forcing her to touch a cracked, gaping hole in its skull. "My brains dripped out, and everything rotted away. I've been dead for ages, now."  
  
"I. I. please. please let go." she gasped, pulling her hand away. "I'm. I'm sorry. please let me go."  
  
"Oh, alright. You're going to die down here too, I think," the skeleton replied, petting her hair a little. She squirmed, tears rolling down her face. "When you're dead, I'll get to talk to you as much as I want."  
  
"No," she whispered, pulling herself up the stairs. She closed her eyes, whispering rabidly to herself. "Sunlight, apple trees, babies. rock climbing. buttercups."  
  
"I'm partial to daisies myself," the skeleton said pleasantly beneath her. Screaming, Sharona raced up the stairs, tripping into the shut door. Pounding her hands against it, she flew into a panic, her voice shrill.  
  
"LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!" she shrieked, trying to drown out the cold sound of the dead man laughing. The pitch blackness of the staircase was a bright relief compared to the darkness that enveloped her as she passed out, still weakly pushing her fists against the door. 


	2. Less Blood, Maybe Angels, Much Less Stuf...

Disclaimer-goodness: I do not own Batman, or anything in the DC universe. If I made money on this I wouldn't put it where it could get me in trouble, so worry not, corporate executive types! I am gaining nothing from this but spent time, a sense of accomplishment, and a little admiration!  
  
Part Two : A Serious House  
  
The door creaked open, and light poured down on the shivering wet figure huddled next to the now-open doorway. Sharona wasn't sure how long she'd been down there, but when she'd woken up she was already sniffling a bit, apparently having caught a cold. She supposed she'd been awake for hours by the time her psychiatrist, Dr. Richard Fenton, finally opened the heavy wooden door and let some light and warmth down on her. He tutted, gesturing for the two guards at his side to lift her up to face him. He grinned into her pale face, leaning down a bit to do so.  
  
"Are you in a chatty mood, Miss Kissinger?" Her eyes opened slightly, flicking towards his face with a look of absolute disgust and hatred. Of course, Richard's smile only grew wider. "I see. If you're not in the mood to talk after lunch, I'm going to have to-"  
  
Faster than one would have thought possible for a girl so thin and weak, she grabbed the wrists of the men holding her, yanking them behind her and throwing them off balance. She threw a punch at the doctor, knocking him onto his back. By the time he was on his feet Sharona had started sprinting down the hall.  
  
Richard frowned, looking down at the guards. One had fallen down the stairs, the other was sprawled on the floor, his arm wrenched out of the shoulder socket. Perhaps, he considered, sedatives might be in order.  
  
Sharona ran down the hallway, her wet feet smacking lightly against the linoleum and her wet hair sticking to her forehead. She looked up, watching the guards at the corner run toward her as if in slow motion. A blur and a few dulled noises later, she is running down the hall again. She frowned slightly, her breathing harsh from her cold and lack of food, and wondered how the hell she was accomplishing all this. The girl barely knew how to throw a punch in her real life, but-  
  
But Sora's headgoblins, they help her in situations like this. I almost forgot.  
  
She continued onward, turning another corner. In her mind's eye she saw it happen before it actually did, four huge guards setting after her at once, tackling her to the ground. She struggled to free herself of them, crying out a little as one forced a hypodermic needle into the thin skin just above an artery in her neck. She gasped a little, her thin body falling limp as the sedative took effect. Her vision dimmed, and she slipped into unconsciousness.  
  
When Sharona awoke, the first thing she noticed was that she was not in Sora's cell. The second was that her body was confined to a straightjacket. She struggled a little, wrinkling her nose as she realized that she had drooled a bit on herself.  
  
"Do you know what you did, Sora?" Richard asked, leaning down to wipe away her drool with the corner of a handkerchief. "You broke the arms of three guards, and pulled the arm of one right out of the socket. The man you threw down into that basement broke his ankle in the fall, as well as receiving a light concussion. You took out five of our staff within the space of five minutes."  
  
"I wasn't keeping time," she said softly, yanking her face away from him. She didn't see the smile on his slightly bruised face as he realized that he'd have her speaking during this session.  
  
"Did you think you could just run out of here, Sora? Did you think that you could somehow make it out of here without my consent?" His voice turned silky, and his hand came to rest on her shoulder. "If I do not deem you sane, you will stay here for the rest of your life. I will see to it personally." His grip on her thin shoulder tightened somewhat, and he grinned a bit as she winced. "Or, you can cooperate with me."  
  
"Not if you were the last living being on the face of this planet, assface," she snarled, ignoring the slight pain in her shoulder. She glared up at him, still feeling a bit sick and weak. He took note of her apparent health, releasing her shoulder.  
  
"You don't look too good, Kissinger," he stated happily, his tone swinging from serious to light in an instant. "You hungry? I bet you haven't eaten since, oh, breakfast a few days ago, is that right?"  
  
Sharona blinked, looking up at him with a bit of confusion.  
  
"I don't know. I don't know, was I really out for that long?" she asked softly, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. He nodded, picking up a notepad and a stack of cards.  
  
"Word association," he smiled, looking a bit like a shark with his toothy white grin. "I say a word, you say the first thing that comes to mind, alright?"  
  
"Go for it," she said calmly, eyeing him. He frowned a little, which made her happy inside. He wanted her to protest, to refuse to participate, for whatever sick reason. She settled herself down, watching him with a placid gaze. She could be a shark too.  
  
A sleepy, lazy shark.  
  
"Alright, the first word is, transit."  
  
"System."  
  
"Machine."  
  
"Factory."  
  
"Electric."  
  
"Avenue."  
  
Richard smiled, jotting some notes down, but inwardly he was confused. Electric Avenue, wasn't that a song?  
  
"Death."  
  
"Goth."  
  
"Pain."  
  
"Royal."  
  
"Sex."  
  
"Bot."  
  
"Excuse me?" her doctor asked, wondering if he had heard her right.  
  
"Sex-bot. You know, a robot for sex," Sharona nodded up at him, her smile weakening.  
  
"Funny. Sora, you're only hurting yourself," he hissed, putting his notebook down.  
  
"I like keeping a sense of humor about me. It's what makes the Joker such an endearing maniac, doncha know."  
  
Richard sighed, frowning angrily. He had so hoped to learn something important, anything that might be useful, but she was apparently out to spite him. He pressed a button on his desk, buzzing the guards outside.  
  
"Here, take her to her cell. Feed her when she agrees to say something useful," he snapped, and the two men- one sporting a black eye- picked her up by the shoulders and ankles and carried her out to her cell. Sharona sighed, supposing that this was some sort of punishment for the bout of anorexia she'd experienced at the age of twelve. She blinked, shaking her head, which felt a little odd suspended horizontally in mid-air. Sora had been the anorexic, not Sharona. She sighed again, wondering why she kept forgetting that she was one and not the other.  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted as she was dumped unceremoniously at the door to her cell. The guard who she had hit in the eye smirked slightly before opening her door and throwing her in, quickly locking the door behind her. After struggling for a moment, she managed to pull herself onto her bed, curling up on her side and breathing harshly for a minute, her small cold catching up with her. Coughing wetly, she closed her eyes, her stomach grumbling from hunger.  
  
Just as she thought she might get some actual rest, the harsh buzzer rang again, and various inmates started filing back into their cells. Pamela glanced over on her way to the cell just across the hall, her lovely features turned in a sort of pouty frown.  
  
"Sora dearest, are you alright?" she asked, pausing in front of the door to her cell. Sharona mumbled something, sitting up with a bleary look on her face.  
  
"I am peachy-keen, Pammikins. I just, um, don't feel too good. I think I'm sick," she said softly, her throat sore. She wriggled a little in her straightjacket, sighing. "How many days ago was it that we talked, Miss Pam?"  
  
"It's been a good three days, honey," Pam said as a guard ushered her into her cell. She leaned against the plexiglass, her green eyes on Sharona. "We just got back from dinner. Why, dear?"  
  
"I should've eaten breakfast that day," she grumbled, leaning back in her bed. "How long is it until the next meal thingie?"  
  
"Oh, Sora," Pamela said reproachfully, seeming a bit saddened. "Why did you piss him off, poor thing? Just play along with your shrink, a good kid like you could be out of here for good behavior within a month."  
  
"I'm not a good kid. I'm a terrible dangerous pirate!" Sharona cackled, giving the redhead a mischievous grin. "I'm some kinda danger to society and stuff, you know, what with being one of those damn starving artists and all. Ahar, me matey, I'm the dread pirate Jack Sparrow. Argh!"  
  
Pamela Isely smiled, sitting down on the edge of her bed. She and the other inmates began winding down to go to sleep, but Sharona was restless. She'd spent most of the past three days sleeping, and she wasn't looking forward to spending another hour or two unconscious. She jumped to her feet, pacing quietly around her room. Her arms felt sore, and her head hurt on one side, a dull twanging ache.  
  
She happened to glance up as a young pregnant woman passed by her cell. Shocked, she didn't speak for a good two seconds, but soon found her voice again. Concerned for the young mother's safety, she called out, her shoulder against the clear plexiglass doorway.  
  
"Hey! Ma'am? Should you be here?" she asked, projecting her voice but remembering to keep it down for the sleeping inmates. The young woman turned, and Sharona found that, like Jason, it was hard to get a good look at her.  
  
"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. Did I disturb you?" the young mother asked shyly, taking a small step towards Sharona's- Sora's cell. She seemed pretty, although Sharona wasn't sure how she could tell, and was wearing the same colors that Jason had been wearing.  
  
"Oh no, not at all, Ma'am," Sharona replied, tilting her head a little. "But, I'm a little worried for you and stuff. How'd you get in here? I mean, it's like, way after visiting hours and everyone's asleep." The young woman blushed, although Sharona could barely see her face, and took another step closer.  
  
"Actually, I don't think anyone knows that I'm here. I came to visit this little guy's father," she said tremulously, patting her stomach. Sharona's eyes widened, and she smiled brightly.  
  
"Oh, I love babies! I hope you get to visit often after he's born. When're you due?" Sharona chatted, feeling drastically happier. The young woman blushed again, looking aside.  
  
"I'm, um, not sure," she whispered, but Sharona got a strange feeling that she did in fact know. After a moment, the pregnant lady gave a tiny laugh. "Actually, I'm long over-due. This little guy should have been born on the twelfth, but, you know."  
  
"Oh, uh, really?" Sharona asked, biting her lower lip. "What day is today then?"  
  
"I believe it's the fourth," the mother smiled at her, her hand on her stomach again. Sharona beamed up at her, blushing a little bit.  
  
"Oh, thank you. I've lost track of time ever since I lost my daily planner, you know," she joked, looking down. She fidgeted, glancing back up again. "So, um, who's the lucky daddy?"  
  
"Oh, well, you don't know him, I think," the woman said quickly, shaking her head. Sharona got the distinct feeling that she shouldn't have asked. Awkward, she looked down again, raising her face to ask another question.  
  
"What're you gonna name him? Something modern-ish, like Devon or Terry, or something all biblical, like Matthias or Saul?" she chirped, getting a gentle laugh from the lady.  
  
"I'm naming him Jack, after his father. My, you're a funny little girl. Why are you here of all places?" the pregnant woman asked, seeming a little concerned. Sharona sighed, shrugging a bit in her straightjacket.  
  
"You know, I'm not quite sure of that myself. If I did know I'd be that much closer to getting out," she said after a moment, wrinkling her nose. "Say, my name's Sha- I mean, Sora. What's your's?"  
  
"Jeanette," the woman giggled, her features lighting up a little before going back to their blurred state. She seemed to be kind of lonely to Sharona, so she decided to pass the time by talking to the woman.  
  
Across the hall, Pamela Isely, a.k.a. Poison Ivy, was having a hard time falling asleep. She sat up, the soft voice of what she at first thought was two young women bringing her to a state of full alertness. She narrowed her green eyes, realizing that the only person speaking was Sora. She opened her mouth to kindly ask the girl to shut her yap, when she noticed how involved in conversation the younger woman seemed to be with a blank area of the hallway. After a few moments of this, she decided to call out to the younger inmate.  
  
"Sora, dearest, who are you talking to?" she asked, one lofty eyebrow raised. Sharona blinked, smiling a little.  
  
"Jeannette. She's visiting her, um, husband? Yeah, heh," she added with a nod, smiling. Pamela's eyes narrowed.  
  
"Well, where is she, dear? There's no one awake but you. And me," she adds with a bit of a pout. Sharona blinked, turning to look at Jeannette- but there was no one there. A look of concern crossed her features as she sat down on her bed.  
  
"She was just here. Did you see her too? Pretty, short pregnant girl, a little shorter than you?" she asked, confused. After a moment, Pamela's kinder inclinations took over, and she nodded a bit.  
  
"Of course, dear. She must have left for home, it is quite late, you know," she said, reluctant to lie to the girl- but it seemed so important to Sora that she had actually spoken with a real person. "You should get some sleep, rosepetal," she added gently, sitting down on her own bed with a feigned yawn. "I'll talk to you about it over breakfast, alright? Go to bed."  
  
Sighing, Sharona wriggled under the covers and fell asleep, but it was quite a while before Pamela could stop thinking about what she'd seen and get to sleep on her own. 


	3. Change of Atmosphere! Yes!

Disclaimer-goodness: I do not own Batman, or anything in the DC universe. If I made money on this I wouldn't put it where it could get me in trouble, so worry not, corporate executive types! I am gaining nothing from this but spent time, a sense of accomplishment, and a little admiration!  
  
Part Three : A Little Change  
  
Sharona opened her eyes and stretched her legs, yawning a bit before realizing that her sore arms were still bound together in the straightjacket. Grumbling good-naturedly, she stood, having thought of a brilliant course of action while sleeping. She behaved as a guard came in to undo her straightjacket, a blandly contented smile on her face. She rolled her shoulders around a bit, rubbing her elbows as she was let out to eat breakfast with the other inmates. Glancing up at Pamela, she smiled, flashing her bright white teeth.  
  
"Hi, Pammie. I think I'll have a meeting with Doctor-proctor after brekkies," she said cheerfully, her arms folded behind her head. Pamela looked the girl over, slightly worried. Most people tended to have worse reactions to spending twenty-four hours in a straightjacket after being locked in a wet basement for two days. It occurred to Pam that, combined with the strange behavior of the night before, Sora's actions now clearly indicated that the girl had gone down another rung on the ladder of mental stability.  
  
"Er," she said after a moment, smiling a bit awkwardly down at the girl. "I suppose so. How are you feeling?" It probably wasn't the most intellectual thing she could have said, but Pam had no idea how close to Planet Earth Sora's mind was today.  
  
"I feel fine. Hungry, but that is easily fixed," the younger girl replied, wiggling her slippered feet. "You know, I half-wish they'd left the straightjacket on. I would have needed you to hold my tray for me until I got to a table," she added, scratching the back of her neck with a thoughtful look on her face, "but I had thought up a way to eat the oatmeal stuff with my feet last night."  
  
Pam couldn't help but smile at the mental image, and she ruffled the girl's hair.  
  
"You're just too cute, Sora dear, did you know that?" she asked playfully, a sunny smile adorning her face. Sharona giggled, sitting down in a sort-of lotus position at the table with Pam, across from the empty seat next to Harvey Dent. She propped her chin in her hands, staring blankly ahead as she ate her oatmeal and half-listened to Pam and Harvey talk. She happened to glance down as a large cockroach crawled across the table and into her bowl.  
  
Her shrill scream echoed slightly throughout the cafeteria as she jumped back, quickly turning the bowl over and trapping the roach. Pam and Harvey turned to her, Pamela looking concerned, Harvey looking slightly annoyed. Sharona took a deep breath, pointing at the bowl.  
  
"Roach. It got in my food. I almost ate it!" she whimpered, clinging to Pamela's arm. "Roaches have so many germs it's not even funny, ugh, ugh, ugh!"  
  
Pamela laughed a little as Harvey rolled his eyes, both faces looking annoyed and embarrassed to some degree. Sharona shuddered, sitting down again as a skinny, lanky thing of a man came over and sat down next to her. Jonothan Crane looked absolutely ecstatic, which was a pretty scary expression for that face of his.  
  
"Have we finally found that which you fear, my dear Miss Kissinger?" he asked softly, getting a strange look from the girl in question. Sharona sighed, shaking her head.  
  
"No, Doctor Crane," she sighed again, pointing at her overturned oatmeal bowl. "A roach went into my food. My scream was not that of fear. It was a shocked and worried reaction to the sight of a germ-laden insect flailing around in the food I was about to eat. Okay? I told you what I'm afraid of already, it's your job to get it."  
  
"My dear, I do not have the means to summon Nyarlathotep. Are you sure you're not afraid of the cockroach?"  
  
"Positive," she answered sourly, giving him the evil eye. "Jonothan, why are you bugging me about this? I thought I did ask for you not to try and see if you could terrify me. You promised you wouldn't. You did."  
  
"It was just a little curiosity, my dear," he said with that same creepy smile. Breakfast was essentially over for Sharona, so she stood, rubbing her elbows.  
  
"I have a meeting with a demon. A shiny demon standin' in the middle of the road," she trailed off, looking up at the huge orderly who had entered the room. He came over, gesturing for her to stand as he led her off. She sighed, giving Pamela a little wave as she left with him. "I'll see you whenever," she yawned, exiting the room with the much larger man's hands on her shoulders.  
  
Once she had gone, Pamela turned to Harvey, looking concerned.  
  
"Harv', she's starting to worry me," she said quietly, her eyebrows raised. He didn't comment, although his good eye glanced up at her, letting her know that he was indeed listening. She sighed, continuing, "She's been acting strangely the past few days- well, strange for her. It's weird. It's like she knows who she is and what she acts like, but sometimes she slips. It's like she's someone else sometimes." She smirked a little as he obviously became more interested, both eyes on her now. "And last night, she was talking to herself, and- oh, I know she does that all the time!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "The point is, she was a totally different PERSON talking to… whoever she was talking to! A pregnant woman named Jean or Jeannie or something, of all things. She was acting really weird, and I think that bastard Fenton has something to do with it."  
  
"That's nice," he grunted, poking around his breakfast. "You want me to do something about it or what?"  
  
"Please?"  
  
There was a soft clink and a swift shine of silver as he flipped his coin.  
  
"Sorry, doll."  
  
"I'm tired of this, Miss Kissinger."  
  
"Good, so am I," Sharona announced, looking him dead in the eye. "Let's try a little honesty. Let's play a little game. You like playing games with your patients, don't you, Ricky." Her last sentence was anything but a question; she would play the 'game' regardless of whether he played or not.  
  
Dr Richard Fenton smiled. He never lost a game.  
  
"It works like this, Ricky. You ask me something, and I'll give you the truth in the form of a lyric. You figure out what my answer is from that. Think you're smart enough for that?" she asked, smirking.  
  
"Alright, what is your name?" The question was simple enough, but he didn't expect her to know any lyrics that had the name "Sora" in them. Grinning, she burst into song.  
  
"Ooh, my little pretty one, pretty one. When you gonna give me some time*" she ended abruptly, looking expectantly at him. It took a few seconds of thought for him to make the connection.  
  
"Sharona?" He smiled when she nodded, although he didn't quite understand. Jotting down a note on that, he looked up for the second question. "Alright. Why, if your name's Sharona, have you been leading us to believe that your name's Sora?"  
  
"Why'd you hafta go an' make things so complicated?"  
  
"Avril Lavigne?"  
  
"COMPLICATED. It's complicated."  
  
"Ah. I see."  
  
"You're not too bright for a Doctor."  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Take this pink ribbon off my eyes. I'm exposed, and it's no big surprised. Don't you think I know exactly where I stand? This world is forcing me to hold your hand."  
  
"Just a girl, hm?" Richard leaned back, his eyes narrowed.  
  
"Why aren't you asking me anything important?" Sharona blurted, looking over at him. "I mean, wouldn't you like to know at least a little what it is that makes these wheels turn, what makes these cogs cog away?"  
  
"Not really." He leaned back, tilting his head. "Are you finished with that sad little feeling of self-worth you walked in here with, you arrogant little idiot?"  
  
"Oh, you noticed? I was beginning to think you'd lost your touch. Actually, I was wondering how long it's been since Korra died," Sharona mused smugly, leaning back. Only two living people had the knowledge that Richard had had a fiance named Korra who had died, the man himself and his father. Sharona, being the creator of the character, had heaped tragedy upon the doctor to make a reason for his assholic nature. It didn't mean she hated him any less.  
  
Richard pretended not to notice. He would not lose his composure in front of a patient, especially a smallfry like Sora "The Fabulous K" Kissinger. She wasn't even a real Rogue, she was more like a groupie.  
  
"You know how she died, right? I mean, it'd be a shame for her own boyfriend not to know how she found out about how Ricky dearest was busy chasing tail of the straightjacket variety. She was a nice person, but I guess a little unstable, if she thought the best way to work out a relationship problem was a bullet to the brain." She had struck a nerve, and she figured that out right about when his hand tightened around her thin throat. "Calm down, Rick. All this will get you are more nightmares and you damn well know it."  
  
"Yes, actually," she continued as his hand loosened a little, the shock registering behind the blankly angry expression in his eyes. "I guess you're wondering how I know this shit, right?" She leaned back, smirking.  
  
"Romeo and Juliet would kill Shakespeare if they had the chance, for writing them into such miserable existences. You do have that chance, right now." He folded his arms across his chest, an eyebrow raised.  
  
"I'm not quite sure I follow you, Kissinger."  
  
"I made you. In a way, I killed your mother. Korra. Elaine. I drove your father insane. I give you nightmares every night. If not for me, you, and everything that is connected to your history, would not exist. Get it? I'm a writer, Richard James Fenton. I wrote you."  
  
The look in his eyes was quickly replaced with hardness. Anger. And then, amusement. He wrote something down in his notepad.  
  
"I suppose you've become more delusional than usual. Messiah complexes are never good, you know. I've been itching to try out electroshock treatment on you." He smiled, and so did she, standing up and leaning against his chest. She stood forward on her tiptoes, his hands holding her wrists.  
  
"You can tell them I have a Messiah complex if you want. I might have a few screws loose, but I'm not insane," she murmured, leaning up against his chest. Richard could hardly believe it. This girl was putting the moves on him? That was nearly as improbable as the sharp knee to the groin she hit him with. She frowned, looking down at his body, curled up in pain on the floor of his office.  
  
"Richard, Richard, Richard. Never kiss a girl who just finished telling you what an ass you are," she sighed, crouching down next to him. She held out her hand and dealt him a swift punch to the side of his head, fairly effectively knocking him out. Frowning, Sharona stood, wondering what she should do now. A small voice, tinny and distant, purred in the back of her mind. The window. Use the desk to break out the window.  
  
"Um," she whispered, looking at the desk, then at the medium-sized window with its vertical bars. "I can't pick up the desk, and I don't think I'm strong enough to break out those bars." She wasn't sure of who exactly she was speaking to, but hey- Sharona wrote those headgoblins into existence. Just because she hadn't thought up a good reason for that existence didn't mean they weren't generally good.  
  
The chair, then. Lift the chair and throw it at the window. Then jump out, we'll take care of the rest.  
  
"Right," Sharona growled, picking the chair up and breaking the window with it. She took a deep breath, staring at the open window before clambering out and onto the windowledge. She stared down at the water below her, sucking lightly on her lower lip.  
  
"If I jump, will I end up alright?"  
  
Yes. We need you in one piece for now.  
  
Sharona took a deep breath and jumped. 


	4. Innocent? Least like!

DISCLAIMER!!!!! ALYCE BELONGS TO THE FF.NET AUTHOR BY THE PEN NAME OF ALYCE TETCH! USED WITH HER LOVELY PERMISSION! I FORGOT THE DISCLAIMER EARLIER! AAHH!!!  
  
The pitch black turned to a sort of misty gray flecked with blue, gradually lightening into a skittish view of the world. Sharona took two more steps forward before rainwater spilled down the gutter, soaking her bare feet with cold water. She blinked, realizing with some measure of alarm that she had been unconscious and was now awake, and apparently already busy. The blue flicker around the corner of her sight gave a small chuckle.  
  
"It's about time. I've been steering you around for some time now," it said, fluttering down to just behind her shoulder. "You do know how to read English, right, Sharona?"  
  
"Yeah, of course I do," she responded weakly, before realizing that for the first time someone in Gotham called her by her real name. She became slightly more alert, perking her ears a little. "You know who I am."  
  
"Yes. Are you ready to use your own body now?"  
  
"Wait, wait, who are you?"  
  
"Surely you know."  
  
"No, I don't. Not really," she replied, vaguely aware of her legs moving of their own volition.  
  
"I suppose you might call me 3Jane."  
  
"3Jane? Where did that come from?"  
  
"Your subconscious, I guess."  
  
Sharona realized that she was walking on her own now. She paused, glancing across the street at the Radioshack electronics store. It appeared to be dark. Everything did, she thought to herself with a small smile. It's raining and it's night. Of course it's dark.  
  
A flash of whitish blue, and two people who might have stepped right from the mind of Lewis Carroll appeared just inside the door. The pair went to work, expertly lifting certain items and putting them carefully into a bag. It took Sharona a second to recognize the man- Jervis Tetch. Mad Hatter. She looked at the young woman, the pretty- if demented- blue and white frock making her suddenly conscious of her rather drab (and by now, torn and dirty, as well as soaking wet) Arkham garments. She ran across the street, barely dodging a speeding car. Coughing, she sat down on the wet pavement, staring up at the locked glass door that stood between her and the Wonderlandian criminal duo.  
  
*Try knocking,* the amused voice of 3Jane whispered.  
  
Sharona lightly tapped the glass of the door with the knuckles of her right hand, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. It startled her to see the dark circles under her eyes, but more shocking was the slight curl of a tattoo on her forearm, barely showing under the sleeve of her inmate's jersey. Pushing the sleeve up, she exhaled slowly to see more of the jagged, dark blue tribal design. She rubbed her skin, hoping against hope that it was painted on- no such luck. That's definitely skin.  
  
*I got those tattoos you wanted, * 3Jane commented dryly. *At least, I hope you wanted them. You've got them now. *  
  
Growling, Sharona knocked on the door again, harder. Startled, Hatter and the young woman looked up. Either by dimly recognizing her face or noticing her standard-issue Arkham clothing, they realized she was not a threat. The Mad Hatter walked to the door and opened it, a slightly irritated look on his face.  
  
"No room! No room!" he cried, waving her away. It took her a few seconds to remember to speak Alice-In-Wonderland-ese to him.  
  
"There's plenty of room!" she said tiredly, hands on her hips. "Hey, Hatter, I was in the neighborhood, and I*"  
  
"WHO are you?" the young woman asked suddenly, her emerald eyes narrowed. Sharona took a deep breath, looking her over.  
  
"I- I hardly know, miss, just at the present- a-at least, I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been, ah, changed since then," she said softly, 3Jane filling in for the part she forgot.  
  
*That is sort of appropriate, if you think about it, * 3Jane said quietly, and Sharona could hear the smile in her (?) voice.  
  
Alyce walked to Sharona, glancing at the spot just above her shoulder before looking at her face.  
  
"What do you want?" she asked, taking note of Sharona's dripping wet and dirty Arkham garments. Sighing, she folded her arms across her chest, feeling sorry for the disheveled girl.  
  
"I think I just need a place to stay, for just, like, tonight. Um," she stuttered, her face turning red. "What I mean is, um, I just got myself out of Arkham and I just need to, ah, get myself together, maybe sleep a bit."  
  
"That's very nice, but we don't know you," Alyce said dryly, her emerald eyes narrowed.  
  
"My name's, um, Sora," Sharona answered, cracking her knuckles nervously. "I guess you don't know me, but your friend, um, Mister Tetch got me to paint something for him a while back."  
  
"Tea Party in Pinks and Blues," Hatter said calmly, shouldering his bag of illegitimately gotten goodies. "I remember you now. You didn't ask for anything, you simply said to wait until you needed a favor."  
  
"Yeah," Sharona sighs, relieved. She'd edited that scene out of the final draft of her story, but apparently it still counted for something. "If it's alright with you, I'd, um, like to collect that favor now. Please? I just need someplace to spend the night, and a change of clothes, but I can handle that part on my own."  
  
"Well," Hatter shrugged, looking at Alyce, who mereky shrugged in return. "I suppose you might stay for one night, Miss Sora."  
  
"Thanks," Sharona breathed out, visibly stifling the urge to hug the both of them. She danced a little on her feet, starting to feel a bit anxious. "So, I guess I'll be on the couch, or whatever, right?"  
  
----  
  
Alyce glanced at a clock as she passed by the empty living room, noting that Sora had been gone for well over three hours. The girl had wolfed down a bowl of cheerios and then taken a short nap, sprawled on the couch with an innocent look on her face. Then she'd gotten up a little less then a half-hour later and left, exclaiming that she would return as soon as possible with a change of more suitable clothing. Three hours later. nothing. She sighed, sitting down on the couch with a magazine.  
  
The door swung open and Sharona scooted through, carrying a pair of shopping bags, a slightly confused expression on her face and dried blood on her hands, past her wrists and halfway up to her elbows. She drops the bags on the floor, looking around for something as though very tired. Finally she asks, "Um, can I use your bathroom to change in? I dunno where it is."  
  
"Sure. Whose blood is that on you?" Alyce asked curiously, pointing out the door to the bathroom.  
  
"Not too sure 'bout that one. I think I've been perma-banned from the mall though, heh." Sharona dug out a bottle of herbal essences, her eyebrows raised. "Ooookay. Well, you could have told me instead, you know I hate this scent," she murmured to herself, stuffing it back into the bag. She looked up at Alyce, eyes wide. "Can I use your shower, miss Alyce?"  
  
"Of course. Its just over there in that bathroom," the young woman said with a terse smile, pointing out the door and grinning slightly as Sora made a mad dash, quickly followed by the sound of running water and Sora's voice singing the fast-paced Japanese lyrics to Megumi Hayashibara's "Sakura Saku".  
  
--- --  
  
"She's always been delusional," the voice on the telephone said with traces of concern. "But lately she's been even more erratic then usual. She's always been dangerous, to a certain degree, but in the past few days she's become almost bloodthirsty," the voice explained. "I really think you should detain her in a more restrictive environment than we can provide here at Arkham, at least until she gets over this."  
  
"Thanks for your concern," Commissioner Jim Gordon replied, barely stifling a yawn as he leaned back in his chair. "I'll have people keeping an eye out for her, but unless she does something, we won't notice her." With that, the older man hung up, sipping his coffee as he glanced at the silent television in his office, turning up the volume as it showed images of an assault.  
  
The tv in the corner showed footage of a mall, a trail of blood and a few footsteps- bare feet, no less- showing the methodical plodding of a girl who was searching specifically for a few articles of clothing. The blood originated from the crumpled form of a comatose security guard, who had been beaten savagely in the face and chest and then hung by his ankles from an impossibly high sign in the food court. Eyewitnesses claim the person responsible was a tall, thin, lanky girl with short brownish hair and wearing loose, baggy, beige clothing that said "ARKHAM" on it in large black lettering on the back.  
  
"Well, dammit." 


End file.
